


We Lie Entwined

by yunmin



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Recovery, Rogue Squadron, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: There are, in retrospect, a half dozen reasons why Wedge is the perfect man to help Bodhi Rook settle into the Alliance to Restore the Republic.That doesn’t mean that Wedgelikesany of them.





	We Lie Entwined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misskatieleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskatieleigh/gifts).



> For misskatieleigh, who asked for WedgeBodhi - Wedge gets put in charge of helping the newest defector transition into the Rebellion. He didn't expect to actually *like* the guy.
> 
> A pairing that I have not written because my heart is buried deep in Wedge/Luke, but I also haven't met a pilot I don't ship Wedge with somewhere along the line, so... y'know, it was fun :D Also turned into musings about how everyone in the Alliance is carrying their own demons, but oops.

There are, in retrospect, a half dozen reasons why Wedge is the perfect man to help Bodhi Rook settle into the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

(He’s an Imperial Defector himself; he spent six months out on injury relearning to walk; he knows exactly what it’s like to walk from a battle that left almost everyone else dead; to name a few.)

That doesn’t mean that Wedge _likes_ any of them.

He’s already spotted one eager, idiotic, headstrong pilot who needs looking after – Skywalker is _young_ and in desperate need of guidance – but Wedge is told that, no, Skywalker already has people in his corner. (To be the Last Princess of Alderaan, ready to martyr oneself for the Alliance, counts for far more than a fool of a pilot who peeled off the Death Star run moments before completion, apparently.) Instead, Wedge is asked to be responsible for the hero of Scarif, _the_ pilot, the only reason that any of them are still standing here at all.

The orders come from Chancellor Mon Mothma herself, conveyed by Hera Syndulla, just before the evacuation of Yavin Base. It’s the last words Hera says to Wedge. The Ghost does not appear at the rendezvous point. Wedge is cast adrift, bitter and alone again – they’ve sent Luke off with that damned Corellian idiot and the Princess, and Verlaine is now heading the Alderaanian contingent, and Hobbie… Hobbie is in medical _somewhere_ , where Wedge isn’t quite sure, but his status remains steady at _alive_ so Wedge doesn’t question it too much.

So he does about the only thing left to himself, and gets his ass down to the medbay. The med droids almost don’t let him in, but Wedge’s orders came with a broad spectrum authorisation that gets him past once he remembers to use it.

“Get the fuck out,” are the words which Wedge is greeted with. He can only see a back, and an arm – still bandaged heavily, which means the limited Bacta supplies didn’t help and it’ll scar. One leg swings under the bed. The other one, Wedge knows from his brief glance at the medical report, was lost to the explosion that rocked _Rogue One_.

“I’d love to,” Wedge shoots back. “But Chancellor’s orders. You’re stuck with me until you can get an audience with her and convince her you _don_ _’t_ need babysitting, and good kriffing luck with that.”

Bodhi’s head turns, just enough to get a glance at Wedge. Half his head is shaved – medical intervention, Wedge guesses, or at least _part_ of it is unintentional, because… well, it’s not a great look, and Rook doesn’t look used to it. His eyes are wide, almost too big for his face, and they’re haunted, from stress and lack of sleep and who knows what besides. In that second, Bodhi looks almost ready to fight, to physically push Wedge out the medbay if he has to. But something stops him. “You’re…” Rook’s voice is low, worn thin, though Wedge thinks it might have been nice once. “You’re a pilot.”

Wedge nods. The bright orange of his _come find me_ suit made that fairly clear. “I was on the Death Star run,” he says, hoping it will prove to Bodhi that he understands just a modicum of the hell that Bodhi’s been through. That he has the potential to.

Bodhi considers this for a long moment. “Chancellor’s orders?”

“’Fraid so.” Wedge lets his mouth quirk into a smile.

“Well, come in. Two-one-bee will have a _fit_ if you keep standing at the door, and I’m never going to get released if I keep pissing them off.”

.

“What do you actually _do_ all day?”

Wedge kicks off, sliding his board out from under the low-level A-Wing he’s tampering with, to see Bodhi looking down at him, curiosity all over his face. Six weeks in, and Wedge would have thought that Bodhi would have worked that out by now: Rook is smart enough.

On the other hand, it’s only in the last week that he’s been fitted with a prosthetic, and only in the last day or two has he actually been able to wander about the ship, so it wouldn’t be the biggest surprise if he’d missed the bleeding obvious.

“Work,” Wedge replies.

“On what?” Bodhi asks. He kneels down, trying to work out what on earth Wedge is doing. “You aren’t rated as a Starfighter mechanic, I checked.”

He _checked_? Wedge wheels himself a little further backwards, then props himself up, so he can get a proper look at Bodhi instead of the half-upside down view he’d previously had. One of the medics has got at his hair, cutting it properly – he’s got an undercut, Wedge notes, that _was_ intentional, and then the left side is shaved clean – that would be where the shrapnel got him in the head – and his remaining hair has been pulled into tight braids across his scalp, gathered into a ponytail. His scruff is steadily turning into a full-scale beard. His mouth is set in a pursed line, his fingers – his hands are sitting across his knees – are long and elegant.

(Wedge is loathe to admit it, but Bodhi’s _damn_ pretty. But it’s not like any of Wedge’s attractions to the various pilots who have crossed his path have actually come to anything, so he doesn’t dwell on it.)

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tinker a bit,” Wedge shrugs.

“Doesn’t answer my question,” Bodhi retorts. He’s got a reputation on ship for being hesitant, shy, nervous; not surprising, given everything he’s been through. Around Wedge, he burns with a fire and a wit that is sharp – even though Wedge can see the cracks in his psyche, damage done by unknown horrors before he even reached the Rebellion.

Wedge sighs. “You really wanna know?” Bodhi’s not going to like the answer, but he nods anyway. “Look after you.”

Bodhi’s eyes go even wider than they already are, naturally – something that Wedge wasn’t sure was possible. “What—” Bodhi sputters, rocking back and forth on his heels. “That’s not a job! I don’t—” He glances around, eyes darting franticly, and there’s one of the breaks that Wedge knows is there, the sort of thing that does mean that Bodhi needs a full-time caretaker, at the moment at least. “You’re one of the heroes of Yavin, does this damn Alliance not have a better use for you than me? You should be out there amongst the stars _flying_ , Wedge, not here on the ground with me, don’t they realise that, you could be doing so much _more._ ”

There are reasons Wedge isn’t out there flying, and the fact that Bodhi isn’t the only one currently failing his Psych Evals is one of them. Wedge isn’t ready to tell Bodhi that yet though. He will, eventually – it’ll help, someday, but at the moment there isn’t room for Bodhi to be concerned about Wedge. Instead, Wedge pushes himself all the way up, and places his hands solidly on Bodhi’s knees, leaning weight on the way he learnt from the medics, how to ground Bodhi when he’s starting to panic. “It’s the way it goes. When they need me to fly, I’ll fly. For now, I’ll tinker and advise and pull shifts on the bridge and do what Chancellor Mon Mothma told me to do, which is to make sure you’re alright.” Bodhi looks surprised at the ferocity of Wedge’s instincts – almost like he’s surprised that he is worth fighting for. “I’m quite content here with you. I’ve been in enough battles I shouldn’t have survived at this point.”

Bodhi takes a ragged breath, trying to hold it and turn it into something deep. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He covers one of Wedge’s hands with his own, and steadies himself in Wedge’s firm gaze.

Wedge takes a sudden sharp breath. _Shit_ , he thinks. Bodhi’s hand is warm on his own, holding firm, and Wedge is almost dizzy under Rook’s eyes, boring into his own. He does not need to fall for the man he’s supposed to be looking after. That is a _bad_ idea.

Thankfully, Bodhi doesn’t notice.

.

When Bodhi is fully released from the medbay, Wedge is cognisant of his growing crush on Bodhi enough that he knows he should _probably_ object to the quartermaster’s insistence on putting Bodhi in Wedge’s bunkroom. It’s a room for four, currently only being occupied by Wedge and a recent Imperial defector who’s awaiting a squadron assignment, once High Command have cleared him. There isn’t much of an argument for Wedge to actually make, and there are advantages to having Bodhi close to keep an eye on him.

The first week passes without incident, and Wedge thinks that they’re making progress on Bodhi’s many issues, and maybe a few of his own. One of them might actually see the inside of a Starfighter within the year.

Then:

Wedge sits bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. Light continues to flash in front of his eyes as he blinks fast; his ship exploding over Yavin, Biggs’ voice ringing in his ears. He digs his finger nails into his thigh, reminding himself that he is _alive_ and _awake_ and that he _survived_ , and those are the consequences he has to live with.

He flicks his gaze across and downwards, desperately hoping that his nightmare didn’t wake Bodhi up. But there’s no one in his bunk. The sheets are disturbed; someone did sleep there. “Bodhi?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet.

“I was about to wake you.” The voice that comes back to his in return is not Bodhi’s. Wedge peers over the edge of his bunk and is greeted by Tycho Celchu looking up at him. “I heard the door go, I think he’s gone.”

“Shit!” Wedge shakes the last of sleep off himself, and vaults down the ladder. He pulls on his boots and grabs his flight jacket, checking his pocket for his comm. “I’m gonna go find him, if he wanders back, let me know?” Tycho nods and then Wedge is dashing out the door.

He tries to think where Bodhi might have gone. His own tired, nightmare-driven feet take him to the hangar, where a couple of techs confirm no sightings of him. The mess hall is a dead end, although Princess Leia is sitting in a corner of it, nursing a cup of caf and looking like the world is coming down around her. Wedge hadn’t even known she was on ship. But he doesn’t have time for her now, so he leaves without even acknowledging her presence. After a little while wandering corridors, Wedge suddenly realises – the medbay.

“Seems your charge escaped you,” Doctor Varin comments when Wedge dashes in the door. “He’s in with the Captain.”

Wedge nods. He calms himself – they won’t let him through the door unless he’s calm. When his breath has steadied, he walks through into the private, occupied room, and: there is Bodhi. Sitting on a chair by a bed, dark skin and dark hair and dark clothes a complete contrast against the stark white of the bed. Wedge taps his comm quickly, sending an all clear to Tycho. “Bodhi?” Wedge asks, keeping his voice soft.

Bodhi keens, a desperate wail that collapses into full blown sobs. Wedge walks, steady across the room, to place a hand on Bodhi’s shoulder. Bodhi responds by wrapping his arms around Wedge’s waist and bawling into Wedge’s stomach. Helpless, Wedge strokes a hand across the back of Bodhi’s head and hopes to hell he’s providing some comfort. There’s nothing he can say. Wedge’s demons are ghosts, gone up in a fire of smoke and metal, and Bodhi’s lie in front of him.

Honestly, Wedge isn’t sure he could have done what Bodhi did. The man was blown up, and he managed to pull himself together just long enough to rewire the controls of the shuttle to get it airborne again. He picked up almost a dozen survivors, and then flew out. How he’d got past the security gate and eluded the Imperial fleet was anyone’s guess – none of the survivors can remember. They’d limped back to Yavin just after the Death Star had been destroyed. Including Bodhi, only nine had survived the flight back.

Only eight of those are up and walking. Captain Cassian Andor is still lying in the medbay, unconscious. The medics all agree he’s not brain-dead, but none of them know why he’s not woken up yet. Bodhi blames himself – if only he’d got back faster, then Cassian would have received medical treatment sooner, and maybe he’d be awake right now.

Wedge waits until Bodhi has cried himself out. “Come on,” Wedge whispers, pulling Bodhi out of the chair and into an embrace. “You’re no good to him like this. Let’s get some sleep and we can see if the medics have made any progress tomorrow.” Bodhi nods against Wedge’s shoulder, and allows Wedge to take his hand and quietly escort him back to their quarters.

Tycho is snoring away when they get back. Wedge is glad. He has his own demons, too – he was an Alderaanian in Imperial Service when Alderaan fell. That’s enough to bear.

Wedge manhandles Bodhi into bed. The man went out in just his sleep things, no shoes, so at least Wedge doesn’t have to undress him, just make sure he gets in his bunk and stays there. Wedge tosses his flight jacket in the vague direction of his footlocker and wrestles his boots off, and then there’s a hand on his wrist. He turns to see Bodhi looking up at him. “Stay?” Bodhi asks.

“Stay—?” Oh. Wedge swallows hard. Bodhi looks so vulnerable there in the bed, and it’s not like Wedge was looking forward to going back to his own bunk, cold and lonely. He silently nods. Bodhi moves over, lying on his side to leave just enough space for Wedge to clamber into a bunk that really isn’t big enough for two people. Bodhi’s hands fall around Wedge’s waist. Wedge wraps an arm around Bodhi’s shoulders. In minutes, Bodhi is fast asleep on Wedge’s chest, and Wedge… Wedge doesn’t have a kriffing clue what he’s doing anymore.

.

The anniversary of Scarif draws closer, months turning into weeks and then into days. Wedge gets his combat clearance back, and with it a tacit acknowledgement that Bodhi is well enough to not need a full-time minder, because no one else is assigned to watch him. Wedge flies with Luke again, the two of them natural counterpoints to each other, blending together effortlessly. It makes Wedge wonder what it would be like to fly with Bodhi, but that is still a way off.

Jyn Erso trudges back to them. Wedge is worried when he spots her in the hangar. She was another who disappeared in the Yavin evacuation, and despite Bodhi’s best efforts to learn where she went, either the Alliance didn’t know or it was classified far above their paygrade. From the rank pips on Erso’s collar, Wedge guesses the latter. Bodhi takes a long look at her, and then they are hugging, weeping into each other’s embrace. Wedge breathes a little easier in that moment.

Cassian Andor still sleeps in the medbay, and Wedge watches Erso’s melancholy grief as she and Bodhi hold a vigil at his bedside. He feels like an intruder, but Bodhi asks for him, and Erso smiles at him sadly, so he stands at the edge of the bed and prays that the Captain wakes up.

The day itself is ordinary. Wedge flies the CAP first shift, leaving Bodhi to sleep in the bunk that they now share nightly. When he returns, he finds Bodhi deep in the innards of a wrecked B-Wing, head ducked alongside a radiant head of gold that can only belong to Luke Skywalker. The presence of the Falcon in the hangar would support that. There might have been a time when Wedge would be jealous – of either or both of them – but today, Wedge is just glad of the distraction. And as the day wears on, a steady congregation of pilots appears, forming a comforting circle around Bodhi and Jyn. Of the nine survivors of the ground battle, a year on, only five are still alive. (Of the survivors of the air battle, most were killed in the Battle of Yavin. Some of the crew of the mid-level fighters survived, scattered to the winds, not wanting any acknowledgement of their part in it.)

The Princess appears, flanked by Solo – she looks worn and thin. It’s been a long year, and her own anniversary is coming up. She says some words, and Luke – hero of Yavin, heir to the legacy of Scarif says some more. (Later in the evening, he approaches Wedge, with new orders from Commander Narra; a squadron perhaps, but Wedge brushes him off. That conversation is for another day, a week and a half from now, when their grief has cleared.) Janson – who skirted death at Yavin by nature of a flu virus, and Wedge has never been able to tell whether he’s grateful to be alive or not – brings a tub of moonshine, and for once the Princess turns a blind eye as a number of serving, on-duty pilots get roaringly drunk.

Luke is telling a story, one about his misadventures on Tatooine, one involving Biggs – and Wedge must be getting better, because his chest no longer aches at the mention of his name. Bodhi is draped over his shoulder, head tucked into Wedge’s neck, hands roaming over Wedge’s thigh. Erso is giving them a tacit smile, so Wedge just lets Bodhi continue, wrapping an arm around his back.

Almost everyone utters their thanks to Bodhi, to Jyn, as the party slowly breaks up. In the end, it’s just Wedge, Jyn, and Bodhi, sitting round. Jyn helps Wedge get Bodhi to his feet – the man isn’t so much drunk as just _tired._ “You alright with him?” Jyn asks, and Wedge nods. There’s a brief goodbye between Bodhi and Jyn, and then Jyn leaves, in the direction of the medbay. Probably to spend another night at Cassian’s side.

Wedge and Bodhi stagger back to their quarters. As Wedge inputs the keycode, Bodhi says: “Thanks.”

“For what?” Wedge asks back, pushing the door open.

“For everything,” Bodhi says, before kissing Wedge.

Wedge stumbles back in surprise, but Bodhi’s hands are firm in Wedge’s shirt, his mouth soft and insistent, and Wedge’s gasp merely turns the kiss open-mouthed. Wedge’s hands, initially uncertain, reach up for Bodhi’s hair, one side still tufty and short from where he’s only just made the decision to grow it back out again.

When they break for air, Wedge has the sense to kick the door closed behind them, before they gain an audience. Knowing the Rebellion, there’s a betting pool somewhere, and he’s in no haste to see it settled before he knows what’s going on himself.

Bodhi’s eyes are sparkling, and there’s a smile tugging at his lips, and he looks … Wedge would say he looks like _himself_ , only Wedge has never seen Bodhi like this. He looks unburdened, just in this moment. Maybe this is what he looked like, before everything.

“I quite like you, you know,” Bodhi offers, almost shy.

Wedge takes him in. “I quite like you too,” he replies, following Bodhi’s wording, and not daring to say that he thinks it’s a heck of a lot more than that. He pushes Bodhi against the bunk, and kisses him again, and thinks that he could do this forever.

.

They are awoken the next morning by banging on their door.

“Bodhi!” The voice that calls through, at what must be an ungodly hour – it’s gone 0700 by the chrono though – is Jyn Erso’s. She knocks again, and repeats Bodhi’s name, loud enough that Bodhi rolls over Wedge – they share a kiss on the way, Erso isn’t going to ruin all their morning fun – before gathering a sheet to make himself decent and opening the door.

“What is it Jyn?” he asks, bleary eyed in the face of the harsh corridor lights.

Erso’s face is lit up in wonder, her cheeks flushed, excitement pulsing through her veins. “It’s Cassian,” she says. “He woke up.”


End file.
